


The Persistence of Memory

by twtd



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Doppelganger, Dress Up, Dubious Consent, F/F, Memories, Other, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twtd/pseuds/twtd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't quite believe it when Charles appears at her door, standing there, looking vaguely contrite, but otherwise acting like nothing ever happened. For all she knows, nothing ever did, though such specific amnesia makes it seem unlikely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Persistence of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> While this is marked as femslash, the majority of this fic is centered around a heterosexual sex scene that can only be considered femslash in retrospect. Intentional skeeviness is intentional.

She can't quite believe it when Charles appears at her door, standing there, looking vaguely contrite, but otherwise acting like nothing ever happened. For all she knows, nothing ever did, though such specific amnesia makes it seem unlikely.

"Moira." He's got that smirk on his face, the one makes him look like a mischievous school boy that got caught smoking in the bathroom and not a grown man guilty of worse. She's charmed in spite of herself and she can’t help but wonder if he’s making her more sympathetic. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

She imagines that she can feel him on the edges of her mind even though she had never been able to feel him before, save when she could hear his voice echoing between her synapses. Part of her thinks that it would be a comfort. Part of her is no longer quite so trusting.

“Of course,” she says as she steps back from the doorway, intrigue overriding common sense and anger.

He saunters in like he owns the place, like he knows it already even though there couldn’t possibly have been time. Logic tells her that much even if her memories do not. Logic tells her other things as well, but she ignores them.

He takes a seat in her favorite armchair and crosses his legs, cocky smirk still in place. She tries not to think about just how attractive it is, how attractive he is. It isn’t fair that he can know the effect that he’s having on her while she remains completely in the dark. Fairness makes it no less true though.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.” The door is locked now and she pours them both two fingers of scotch. Their skin does not touch as she hands him his glass, but she feels his fingers on hers anyway.

“What can I say?” He almost looks contrite, shrugging with a practiced insouciance. “I couldn’t stay away.” He brushes his hair back from his forehead.

“So what?” She sits opposite him, legs sliding together as she mimics his pose. “I’m just supposed to forgive you for rearranging my neurons? Just… forget it?” The irony is obvious and there’s a flash of something in Charles’ eyes, something that she doesn’t understand. “They stuck me back on a desk because of you. They would have fired me, but they’re hoping that I might remember something important one day, and they don’t want me wandering of in the meantime.”

“I’m sorry about that. Truly.” He’s staring at her legs and she doesn’t have to be a telepath to know what he’s thinking. She won’t forgive him that easily, but then again not everything is about absolution.

“Why are you here, Charles?” The toe of her pump traces the outside of his calf. His eyes find their way back to her face.

“Is it so hard to believe that I wanted to see you again?” He gets up and moves to sit beside her. She leans into him as his weight settles onto the couch, and when he puts his hand on her knee, she doesn’t try to brush it away.

“It’s hard to believe that you would act on it.” She wraps her fingers around his wrist and feels his pulse jump. “Just because I can’t remember our last conversation doesn’t mean I can’t guess why you did it.”

She’s thinking about revenge as she moves her fingers over a gaberdine sleeve.

 _That isn’t worthy of you_. She hears him even though his lips aren’t moving, and she knows it’s true. She just doesn’t care.

“I don’t see you walking out.” Of course it’s petty, but he’s the one that knocked on her door, not the other way around. She can’t be blamed if he knows the why but chooses to stay anyway.

“No. You’re right.” He leans in then and kisses her. His lips are softer than she imagined they would be. She can feel it then, his presence in her mind, wrapping around her as his arms do the same. She sinks into the coolness of it, and despite everything, despite her lingering mistrust, she relaxes. He must want something else of her. He wouldn’t have come back just for sex, but as soon as she thinks about it, she can feel him pushing the thoughts away, more forceful than she imagined he would be.

 _Can’t you just accept that I want you?_ His fingers are on her neck, sliding under her collar, and she shivers, feeling him skittering along her nervous system. He touching all of her at once, though neither of them has removed a single item of clothing, and suddenly she wants that physical connection. She flushes, skin heating as her breath catches in her chest. Any objections she might have had have been swept away. They weren’t that strong in the first place.

 _Bed_ , she thinks, knowing that he can hear her.

“No.” He shakes his head before he starts pressing kisses to her neck, hands pushing the straps of her dress from her shoulders. “Not yet.” And somehow that’s enough to make it alright. His lips are on her collarbones, teeth leaving marks that will be gone before he is. She unfastens her bra herself. His hands feel delicate as they cover her breasts, as her nipples harden under his palms. He drags a nail over one of them and somehow it’s sharp enough to make her bleed. He swallows her gasp with an open mouth and pushes against the cut from the inside until the ache radiates from her nipple to her clit, pulsing with each beat of her heart. No matter how much she enjoys it, she hadn't thought he could be deliberately cruel. He's proved her wrong more than once now.

“God, Moira.” The voice in her ear is more ragged than the voice in her head and she lies back easily underneath him, one foot on the floor and the other around his waist, pushing into his hip. She can feel his hardness against her thigh and she would reach down for it except moving her arms is suddenly impossible. They’re stuck where they are, wrapped around his neck, so she grabs a fist full of hair as she arches up to meet him.

One minute everything makes sense, and the next it’s like he has eight arms and they’re all doing something amazing: pushing her dress up, pinching an already sore nipple, stroking her clit, moving her panties aside. It’s overwhelming and she has to close her eyes against it all, because it’s the only thing she can do, the only sense he’s left her control over. Then, as he’s pushing his cock into her, it all disappears, and the only thing she can feel is each slow centimeter and his hot, damp breath against her neck.

She digs her nails into his scalp as she opens her eyes to meet his and gets caught. They ripple toward something darker before returning to the color she knows they are. Then everything else overcomes her again and she can’t keep them open any longer. For all that Charles was going slowly a moment before, now he can’t seem to move quickly enough, and with each thrust she's lifting her hips higher, trying to pull him in deeper. One lone ghost finger brushes over her clit, rubbing it just like she would if she was touching herself. She would have been amazed at his concentration if she was still capable of thoughts that complex, but her body is exploding around her, each cell breaking apart and reforming in an instant as she stops thinking completely.

Charles is lying still on top of her as she comes back to herself. He seems content there, and Moira starts the work of disentangling her fingers from his hair. She hadn’t thought that it was long enough for that. Suddenly, her world shifts again. The body on top of hers is too thin, too light, too soft. Breasts press down into her own tender breasts, and her eyes snap open in horror. She tries to move, but once again, her limbs are forced into immobility.

Emma stretches lazily on top of her, sliding their bodies together. Her thigh presses down between Moira’s and Moira whimpers as she arches against it. Emma chuckles cruelly as she pushes herself up. Moira closes her eyes against the sight of the other woman above her, but it doesn’t matter. She can still see her there.

“It’s been a pleasure, baby.” Moira quakes in disgust as she feels one of Emma’s fingers on her swollen lips. “Give Charles my best next time you see him.” She opens her eyes in time to see Emma leaning in once again, her fingers brushing again Moira’s temple. She tries to pull away, but it’s impossible. “Not that you’re going to remember this.”

Moira manages a whimper before her eyelids get too heavy to keep open. The last thing she hears is the front door closing, but she can’t quite remember just who had come to visit her. As she drifts off to sleep, she decides that she’ll worry about it in the morning.


End file.
